


Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 17:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15272613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: You crossed your arms, “You’re setting me up with Connor? You don’t even like androids!”“I like Connor. I know it’s our tradition to go to that lame ass DPD benefit and clean out the bar, but I can’t this year. I’m sick.” He gives out the most pathetic fake cough.You strike the door, “Doe he think this is a date? Is this a date?!”“Dunno, you should go ask him.” He fake coughs again.ORYou have feelings for Connor and instead of letting you and Connor figure that out, Hank intervenes. Featuring: drinking, art museums, more drinking, dancing and repressed feelings.





	Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more developed writing exercise, still trying to get the hang of writing Connor dialogue. Honestly might rework this into a longer piece, more of a slow burn because I love the idea of shenanigans in an art museum.
> 
> Also  
> \- reader is hanks god-daughter basically  
> \- reader isn't a cop

Hank has embarrassed you before. He was your father’s best friend, practically another dad to you. Embarrassment came with the territory. You can remember distinctly him picking you up in middle school during your ‘I’m too cool to hang out with my family’ phase. He’d roll up to the front of the school with his weird, old car, blasting his weird, old music. He had the nerve to expect you to just hop in like you  _ enjoyed _ the humiliation. 

“I can bust out the siren if you want?” He’d offer, shit eating grin.

You’d sulk in the front seat. “I told you I’d meet you around the corner.”

“Yeah and I told you that I’m a cop and twice your age so zip it.”

There was also that time last month when you spilled coffee all over your shirt, causing him to only pour your drinks into a sippy cup for a whole week. His shit eating grin was no different than it was when you were in middle school.

But this was an entirely different brand of embarrassment. You stood in the entryway of his house, high heeled and tightly wound. You thought if someone breathed wrong you might snap.

“Are you...are you ready?” Connor asked, adjusting his tie. He was wearing a beautiful formal suit, a deep almost black-blue that glinted when in the right light. You didn’t mind his fidgeting. You you couldn’t help but think that it was due to the fact that you were tapping your foot, counting down from ten trying not to yell at Hank, who had smartly hidden in his bathroom.

“One minute. Why don’t you wait outside for a taxi?” You said, marching to the bathroom.

Connor took the hint and stepped outside as you pounded on the bathroom door. “What the fuck, Hank?!”

“Watch your mouth, I don’t care if you’re an adult.” He said from the otherside of the door. “You’re gonna be late.”

You crossed your arms, “You’re setting me up with Connor? You don’t even like androids!”

“I like Connor. I know it’s our tradition to go to that lame ass DPD benefit and clean out the bar, but I can’t this year. I’m sick.” He gives out the most pathetic fake cough.

You strike the door, “Doe he think this is a date? Is this a date?!”

“Dunno, you should go ask him.” He fake coughs again.

You contemplate taking off your shoes and kicking down the door. Hank can’t just set you two up for shits and giggles. That’s not  _ fair _ . You sulk for a moment before getting middle school flashbacks. You stand up straight, shaking away the feeling in response.

“You know what, fuck you, you can’t make embarrassed about this. I’m an adult, I can do what I want. I’m going to go get drunk.” You say, turning on your heel and walking out the door.

Hank stares at himself in the mirror, brows creased. He sighs, hoping you don’t end up burning down the museum or getting arrested.

 

Connor sits opposite of you in the taxi, quarter dancing between his fingers as you stare out the window. The sunset paints the city warmer than it actually is in March but it’s nice. And it gives you something to look at other than Connor’s dumb handsome face.

You liked him. You gave up fighting the feeling and came to accept it, hoping that would help you move on. Apparently Hank had other plans. You dig your nails into your palm. You were going to get back at him for this, you just needed some time. You’re sure if you flip through the old family photos you can find something revenge worthy. Maybe send them anonymously to everyone at the DPD. That’s a good start.

The quarter flies out of Connor’s hand and lands at your feet. Your eyes meet his for a moment before you lean down to grab it. You study the coin, running your thumb over the face of it before handing it back. “Why do you do that?” You ask as he returns to fiddling with it.

Connor shrugs, “Keeps me occupied while I’m processing things.”

You want to ask what he’s processing but you bite down on the question instead, keeping it from leaving your mouth unwillingly. If he wanted to tell you he would.

He pockets the coin and looks at you, “Hank said that you two normally attended the benefit together.” Connor says, saving you from saying anything you didn’t want to bring up.

“Fowler made him go a few years back as a punishment. He dragged me along to avoid picking fights with the mayor or any other attendees.”

“Do you like going?” Connor asks as the car pulls toward the front of an art museum. A big beautiful building of odd angles, glass and greenery kept in constant bloom. Your earlier feelings of dread dissipate as you take in the sight of it, and of those walking toward the entrance. You can make this fun.

You smile, sharp and dangerous, at him, “Sometimes.”

The LED on his temple flickers from blue to yellow to blue as he watches you exit the car.

 

To call it a DPD benefit was slightly incorrect. Some of the proceeds did go to the DPD but it also served as a city wide function that benefited the fire department, hospitals and public schools. And glamorized in the hopes of drawing in big spenders. It did fairly well, all things considered, and the so-called upper crust would come out to pretend like they cared about Detroit and the people who lived there.

You and Hank enjoyed staying at the bar drinking and watching people mingle. He gave you the dirt on the politicians, the socialites, anyone who at one point or another had found themselves in DPD handcuffs. Anyone he didn’t know you would make up a story for, pitch a crime that you thought they would commit. You were pretty sure it was the only way Hank would survive such an event.

This year is going to be different obviously. Hank is “sick” at home and Connor is there actually getting good PR for the DPD. This year a human is the one checking your coat and nobody cares when Connor links arms with you as you pass through foyer of the Museum. In the past androids had done all the service work; bartending, waiting tables, checking coats, etc. The revolution has changed things and quickly. A human waiter offers you a glass of champagne. 

You survey the wide open room. A band plays light, inoffensive music against the back wall with an empty dance floor in front of them. On the left of the room, past the semi circle of dinner tables surrounding the dance floor, is the bar. Currently occupied by people schmoozing and drinking cocktails. Your eyes followed a woman and her date crossing to the right side of the room, down the corridor that lead to the silent art auction. And of course, all the other hallways and stairs were roped off to keep people from wandering into the other exhibits.

The three other time’s you’ve attended this event you and Hank headed for the bar immediately. You glance at Connor. He’s studying the people passing by, politely saying hello to those who greet him. You see at least a half dozen people check him out despite the fact that he’s on  _ your _ arm, thank you.

It might be a fake date, but he’s still  _ your _ fake date.

You unlink yourselves. Maybe it’s better this way, you think as you walk past the bar. Your eyes set on a roped off hallway. Connor excuses himself to follow after you

“I think we’re supposed to be at the table with Captain Fowler.” Connor reminds you, leaning closer to you as you walk. You know he’s memorized the schedule of events and probably planned to do whatever it was Fowler wanted him to do. He’d be the posterboy of the DPD before the night was over.

“Yeah, I’ve never actually sat for the dinner.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirks upward for a moment like he’s trying to fight a smile. “Of course you haven’t.”

You slip past the mingling and down a hallway unnoticed. Security’s gone downhill since they stopped using androids. It’s not hard to bat your eyes at the human guard and ask him if he could pretty please let you and your friend see exhibit.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Connor whispers in your ear, avoiding the gaze of the security guard. He straightens his tie as you walk past him. He’s nervous. Good, it makes you feel less weird about being here with him. Puts you two on equal footing.

Your heels click as you turn the corner, “Live a little.”

He glances toward the crowded room one more time before catching up with you.

Connor watches you stand in front of a painting from the 1960s, all bright colors applied flatly. You tilt your head from one side to the other, studying it. “Do you like art, Connor?”

You don’t know that his eyes are still on you when he says, “Yes.”

You stroll the gallery, arms and hands brushing. You wish you had grabbed two glasses of champagne but don’t want to risk leaving the room.

 

“We did this wrong.” You say, sneaking back out to the main floor, heading toward the bar. It’s slightly less crowded, so your double shot comes to you faster. You down it without making a face. You order another one. “We’re supposed to drink first.”

“I don’t drink.”

You roll your eyes, “What a shame, guess I’ll have to drink for two.”

Connor adjusts his cuffs. You try to ignore how great that suit looks on him. You down the second drink faster than the first when Connor looks at you with those doe eyes. “We should take our seats.” He says.

“You go, I’m fine here.” You insist. 

“Please.” He must be trying to make his eyes looks bigger, more loveable. It’s working.

You pull out a few bills from your purse and drop them down on the counter. “Fine.” You say, sliding off your stool. Your senses are a little dull and you really start feelings those double shots the longer you spend standing. “You might have to, uh, guide me there.” You say. Connor chuckles and pulls you by the wrist. Your eyes stay focused on the back of his collar as he leads you to the table where the first course is finishing up.

Connor pulls the seat out for you, and apologizes to everyone for being tardy.  
You glance around, recognizing Fowler, and the Police Commissioner, sitting with their spouses. Another couple who you didn’t recognize sat to the right of you.

“We saw you two sneak off to the gallery, don’t try to be modest.” The woman to your right says. She’s older, dressed brilliantly in gold. She smiles at you and Connor. You sip your glass of wine demurely, avoiding her knowing eyes.

Fowler gave Connor a look that said  _ we’re going to talk about that later _ .

“Who can blame them, they’re young and in love. They should enjoy it.” Her husband says, winking at Connor. You almost choke on your wine.

“Oh we’re,” you point between Connor and yourself, “we’re not--”

“-- going to waste it.” Connor says, grabbing your hand interlocking your fingers with his. You stare down at it, at you two holding hands. Your eyes are ready to pop out of your skull.

The phrase  _ we’re not dating _ dies in your throat as Connor runs his thumb over the back of your hand. You keep drinking your wine.

The next course comes out, Connor sends his plate back to the kitchen politely.

“Oh that’s right, you’re the android detective I’ve been hearing all about.” The older man says. “It seems you’ve done some impressive work.”

“Connor’s one of our best and brightest, we’ve very proud of what he’s accomplished for our unit.” Captain Fowler says. You think if Connor could blush he would be doing it now.

Connor smiles and shakes his head, “I can’t take all the credit. I’ve been fortunate to work alongside some of the best the DPD has to offer, like my partner Lt. Anderson.”

You sip from your glass, watching the exchange continue like this for a while, puzzling out who the older couple is. Donors, most likely. You were just glad that they genuinely seemed to like Connor, and didn’t see him as a crime solving machine.

“And you dear, are you a detective as well?” The woman asks.

You laugh, maybe a little inelegantly. “No, no. My father was. He and Lt. Anderson were in the academy together but my father worked in Vice.” You bite your tongue to keep from saying anymore. Considering the amount you’ve had to drink you know if you keep talking your going to say things you don’t want to think about. The woman reaches over and pats you on the arm, gentle and kind.

You focus on your meal mostly after that. Well, you try to at least. Connor’s hand resting on your knee made your head spin. You take in a bite of food and think about everything other than the solid, comforting feel of his skin on yours. Synthetic, soft and smooth but good. Warm. You tried not to think about why he would have it there.

Except it’s impossible not to think about it. You still couldn’t tell if this is a fake date for the sake of making the DPD look good in front of donors, or if it isn’t a date and Hank is just fucking with you. Your stomach twists in knots as you finish another glass of wine.

Connor slips a glass of water into your hand as the Commissioner's wife was talking about the art auction. You eye him but he’s acting like he’s only paying attention to the conversation. You figure water might be a good idea anyway.

Dessert comes and goes, you talk to everyone at the table on autopilot. You feel warm and buzzing and unfocused as you pop a strawberry into your mouth.

“Oh Charles I love this song,” The woman next to you says, looking at her husband lovingly.

Her husband stands, “Gwen, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?” He extends his hand to her.

“Of course, I’m glad you asked.” As she stands she turns to you and Connor, “Go on now, Connor, ask her if she’d like to dance.”

You laugh, “I’m not much of a dancer.”

Connor leans forward, whispering in your ear, “I don’t think she’s going to take no for an answer. Dance with me.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine.

He stands and extends his hand to you. Gwen gives you eyes that say  _ go on now, take his hand _ . It all happens slowly, and it feels like you’re watching it from the crowd. How he takes you by the hand gently, leading you away from the table and onto the dance floor. How it feels like his eyes are only on you.

“Connor, I don’t know how to dance like this.” You whisper. Your words feel a little thick. Other couples are on the floor, some doing some kind of ballroom dance, others just swaying. You have a feeling he’s not going to let you get away with just swaying.

He helps you position your hands before wrapping an arm around you. “Follow my lead.”

“You know how to ballroom dance?”

“I just learned.” He smirks. Damn android. “It’s not hard, just step when I step, turn when I turn you.” And then he starts moving, and you just have to do your best to follow him. You see Gwen and Charles in the corner of your vision, looking at each other like there was no one else in the room.

“Can I dip you?”

“I don’t know, can you?” You snark. He dips you backward and you feel yourself clinging to him for dear life. “Up, bring me up.”

As he hoists you back up, the room spins around you. Art on the walls passing in a messy blur. You’re rightside up suddenly, and closer to Connor than you remember being before. You’re still holding him tight, too tight.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Connor asks. His voice is so earnest it hurts. 

You look away from him and you feel it happening. The words you didn’t want to say earlier but have to now that you have enough alcohol in you. “I’m sorry he put you up this.”

He feigns confusion, you’re sure. He’s pretending on your behalf, giving you an easy out. “What do you mean?”

“Hank made you bring me to this. It’s embarrassing. I think he knows I like--,” hard stop ordered by your sober brain, “going to this thing. It’s fun. He hates it and puts up with it for me, and now he’s making you put up with it for me.”

Connor shakes his head, “Hank wasn’t invited this year. I was.”

You stop dancing, but Connor’s hands stay on you. “What?”

“He didn’t tell you? Of course he didn’t. He’s Hank Anderson, my gun has better communication skills.” Connor says. His LED flashes yellow for a while. Couples twirl around you two. Your brain feels like it’s spinning too. “I wanted to go with you.”

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ” Is all your dumb, whiskey fueled brain can think of to say. You’re on autopilot as you drift off the dance floor and grab a glass of champagne by the waiter nearby. Connor’s close behind you as you wander into the auction room. You drink the champagne as you meander, hoping that at some point your legs will learn how to walk in a straight line. 

Connor grabs your elbow, “Is something wrong.”

You shake your head. You stare at a sculpture made of crushed soda cans. Who the fuck buys these? You can feel the eyes of the auctioneers and rich pricks. Your nice dress feels a lot less nice when people are staring at you like that.

“You’re crying.” Connor whispers. Oh, look at that, he’s right. Your vision blurs and you fight blinking because you don’t want to ruin your makeup.

You let him escort you out of there and into the bathroom. You hop onto the counter and kick off your heels as you cry. You flex your toes and realize that everything is delayed and fuzzy and distant. You wanted to get happy, ‘let’s mock people’ drunk. Not sad, ‘crying in the bathroom without shoes’ drunk.

Connor grabs a tissue and blots your tears. It makes you cry more. “You’re so nice to me. And you look so good in that suit, I should have said that before!” Your voice is wobbly. Ladies exit their stalls, wash their hands, and pretend that you’re not having a total moment. 

Inexplicably, Connor is smiling at you. “Thank you. I should have told you that you look lovely in that dress.” 

“I thought he was trying to embarass me or something? You know how he does?”

Connor’s voice is soft, “Who?”

“Hank! He loves doing this, loves putting me into these situations but this isn’t funny! I ruined a perfectly good date trying to prove that he can’t embarrass me anymore.” Your voice is loud and echoey in the bathroom. It hurts your ears a little.

“You didn’t ruin it.” Connor says. Big sincere eyes.

“I did. I did and now I’m here crying in the bathroom.” You huff, gears turning in your head slowly. “Was this really a date?”

Connor looks down, LED flashing yellow quick as a heartbeat. “I was hoping it could be.”

“I ruined-”

“Shhh,” He’s looking up at you again, big brown eyes. Freckle dotted face. “I can say 100% without a doubt this is the best date I’ve been on.”

You laugh, still teary, “This is the only date you’ve been on.”

Connor smiles and winks at you, “You don’t know that.”

Your face heats up. He brushes some hair back behind your ear. “Let’s get out of here.” You say, slipping your heels back on. You pull Connor out of the bathroom and grab your coat from coat check before hopping into a cab for the nearest coffee place to sober up. 

 

“You really thought Hank was tricking you? Or, tricking me into going out with you?” He’s sitting next to you on a couch, you’re snuggled into his side as you sip on a large cup of coffee. It’s dark out but you’re not ready to to go home yet. 

You shrug, “Not tricking me, exactly. Just doing that dad thing of embarrassing me whenever he can.” 

The shops more empty than not, but it’s nice. Music plays softly in the background as you watch cars go by out on the street. “Kind of wish he would have just stayed out of it.” You mumble into your coffee

“I think it worked out pretty well for us.” Connor says, securing his arm around your shoulders.

You smile, “Yeah, I guess it did.” You look up at him, your faces close. His lips part as you turn back to your coffee, “Still going to get back at him for it.”

Connor chuckles and brushes his lips against your temple, “I’m sure you will.”


End file.
